


a strange estrangement

by Wildehack (Tyleet)



Series: one girl in all the galaxy [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8425693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyleet/pseuds/Wildehack
Summary: The last Slayer to be called before the fall of the Old Republic is fourteen years old, and the queen of Naboo.





	

The story always begins with a prophecy.  _To each generation there is a Slayer. One girl in all the galaxy. She alone will stand against the vampires, and the forces of darkness._  It's an old story. This is the ending.   
  
The last Slayer to be called before the fall of the Old Republic is fourteen years old, and the queen of Naboo.   
  
In these civilized times, a delicate series of spells alerts the Jedi Council of the exact moment when Padmé Amidala stumbles in her ready room, a violent rush of  _something_  filling her up. (Worlds and worlds away, another teenaged girl has died.) The steel arm of her chair crumples like paper when she grabs hold of it to steady herself. She stares at the ruined chair, stares at her own small hands, and allows herself sixty seconds to indulge in blind panic.

Naboo is a member of the Republic; the Council and the Slayer serve the Republic. Padmé knows what this means. She draws in a shallow, frightened breath, sets her shoulders, and asks an attendant to bring her the queen's ceremonial cloak. There is no time to paint her face, but she marks her lips with the split scar of Remembrance, wraps the rich silk and velvet of her world's history around her shoulders.   
  
When she receives word that an encrypted communication from Coruscant awaits her attention, she is ready, fear shut firmly away, the cool expression of a monarch addressing a foreign priest on her face. She takes the communique in her throne room, quite alone.   
  
The image of a Jedi Master appears before her throne. "Padmé Naberrie," he greets her. "I am Master Mace Windu, of the Jedi Temple."   
  
"Queen Amidala," she corrects him. She is not a girl. She is a Queen.  "I will not be Padmé Naberrie, in a legal or personal sense, until my term is over."   
  
He raises an eyebrow. "Your Highness," he allows. "It is my duty to inform you that you are Called to the Temple. Have you felt it?" He returns her nod seriously. "You must come to Coruscant as soon as possible. Until you can be taught to manage your powers, you will be in grave danger from supernatural forces across the galaxy."   
  
"I am the queen of an illegally blockaded planet, Master Jedi," Padmé says coldly. "I have received daily threats against my life for the past three years; there have been several attempts. It is not outside the realm of possibility that we will be invaded by the Trade Federation, if the Republic continues to fail to protect its citizens. I hardly think this new development puts me in further danger."   
  
"I understand your situation is uniquely difficult," Master Windu tells her, with equal coldness. "But respectfully, you have never experienced anything like this. Until you learn to shield your power, every vampire and demon in the system will know you, feel you, be drawn to your fledgling strength. If you don't leave Naboo, you'll soon have bigger problems than the Trade Federation."   
  
"I will not abandon my people on the eve of war," Padmé says, her hands tightening on the arms of her throne. The metal gives a warning shudder.   
  
"You are the  _Slayer_ ," Master Windu says forcefully. "Naboo has other leaders. You have a sacred duty to the galaxy."   
  
"And I will serve the galaxy," Padmé grinds out. "After my people are safe."   
  
Master Windu scowls at her.   
  
*  
  
The nearest Jedi Knight is dispatched to Naboo with his Padawan, to safeguard the girl to Coruscant, where she can be safely bound to a Watcher. Since the Jedi's duty is  _also_  to the Republic, the Jedi will also oversee peaceful negotiations between Naboo and the Trade Federation. The negotiations end poorly, and Padmé finds herself on a ship headed for Coruscant after all, leaving behind an occupied world.   
  
She is furious.   
  
Sabé wears the queen's robes, following the invasion protocol. Padmé finds herself with a bare face and her own name when they leave Naboo, but there is no pretense that she is not the Queen. There is also no pretense that she is not the Slayer; all of her ministers saw her rip apart a Federation droid with her bare hands. Everyone knows the truth. If they were not fleeing to Coruscant in the dead of night, a special election would be called to replace her, a memorial held for Padmé Amidala. Her handmaidens look at her like she's halfway dead already.   
  
She does not like these Jedi, either. Qui-Gon Jinn is arrogant and very cavalier with her nation's future, and his apprentice can't look at her without scowling. But they get them through the blockade, and Master Jinn puts a hand to her brow and closes his eyes, and Padmé feels something invisible gently drape itself over her, like a blanket.   
  
"There," he says, letting his thumb drop away from her forehead. "Your Watcher will teach you to shield yourself, on Coruscant, but I've hidden you from any prying eyes until then."   
  
"Then there is no reason I can't accompany you to the planet," she says briskly, ignoring his impatient look. "I'll meet you in the hangar in twenty minutes." She will represent Naboo until it is safe. She does not trust this man to put her planet above his own agenda.   
  
She dons the roughest clothes her handmaidens can find, braiding her hair simply out of her face. After a moment of contemplation, she straps a blaster to her hip. She's the Slayer, after all.   
  
Master Jinn is waiting for her at the hangar door, arms crossed over his chest. He leads her into a blinding desert, and a dull, sandy city crouched at the edge of some yellow cliffs.   
  
"Well," Master Jinn says, once they enter the city. "Where shall we go, highness?"   
  
"Surely you have some idea," she says, uncomfortable. She has never left Naboo's home system, before. She has never been to a city like this.   
  
"I do," he agrees. "And so do you, although you aren't aware of it. Examine your instincts. What do your feelings tell you?"   
  
She scowls at him. "I'm feeling frustration, at the moment, Master Jinn."   
  
He half-smiles at her. "Close your eyes. I find that helps."   
  
She sighs, and shuts her eyes. It feels stupid at first, but--"That way," she says, pointing down an alley.   
  
"After you," Master Jinn murmurs.   
  
She leads them to a run-down shop maintained by an undead Toydarian, at which point the Jedi thankfully takes over the negotiation. Her skin crawls, being so close to a vampire, but vampires are considered full citizens on this planet. He has the parts they need, but the little tugging sensation that led her to the shop hasn't let up, is still drawing her forward. She lets it pull her into the shop's second room, where a young slave boy tinkers with a machine, dirty bandages covering his neck and wrists. It's where his owner drinks, she realizes with a stab of horror. Slavery is outlawed in the Republic, and blood-slavery is as taboo as murder. She almost doesn't notice that the tugging has ceased.   
  
"Are you an angel?" the boy asks, frowning up at her.   
  
She's startled into a laugh. "What?"   
  
"It's just--you're shining," he explains, still looking troubled. "I've never seen anybody shine like you before." 

Padmé shivers, wondering if Master Jinn's invisible blanket has somehow slipped off her shoulders. "I don't think I'm shiny. Look," she says, holding her hand out, palm-up. "Just skin."   
  
The boy gives her a dubious look. "If you say so," he says.   
  
*   
  
There's another prophecy, although Padmé doesn't know this one. The Chosen One will bring balance to the galaxy.   
  
That's the thing about prophecies. There are an infinity of chosen ones. There are an infinity of questions.   
  
The Power that chooses Padmé Naberrie is not the Power that chooses Anakin Skywalker.   
  
There's no escaping a true prophecy.   
  
*   
  
On their way out of the desert, Padmé feels a crawling unease, and not just because they've separated a child from his mother, and he's been trying not to weep for the last mile. The sensation gets stronger the longer they walk.   
  
"I--I've got a bad feeling about this," she tells Master Jinn, and he gives her a terse nod.   
  
"I feel it too," he says. "Walk faster."   
  
They walk almost to the ship itself, and then a speeder comes out of nowhere, nearly knocking Anakin down. A demon leaps over the side, headed straight for Padmé. She knows it's a demon without knowing why, some newborn Slayer instinct warning her that this is her foe. He draws a double-edged lightsaber, a chilling hum filling the air, and Padmé fumbles with her blaster, getting off three shots. He blocks every one, sending the blasts back her way, and then he is on her. She ducks the blade, kicking blindly at his legs, and her boot just meets the edge of his cloak. The saber comes back down, singing her arm before she can roll away. She hits the demon once with the butt of her gun, and then he's sliced it in two, and she's weaponless.   
  
The demon grins at her, all yellow eyes and white teeth.   
  
Master Jinn thrusts himself bodily between them, his own lightsaber drawn. "Get to the ship," he snaps, as the demon's blade meets his.   
  
One hand clutched to her wounded arm, Padmé runs panting to the ship, Anakin just ahead of her.   
  
The demon almost kills Master Jinn before they rescue him.   
  
Padmé, Anakin and Obi-Wan meet him in the hangar. "What  _was_  that?" she demands.   
  
Master Jinn is out of breath, visibly disturbed. "I'm not sure," he says. "But it was well trained in the Jedi arts. He was after you, Padmé."   
  
She nods, shaken.   
  
“Why was he after you?” Anakin asks, casting Padmé an anxious look. “Is it because of the glow?”  
  
“The glow?” Obi-Wan repeats, raising both eyebrows.  
  
“Anakin thinks I shine,” Padmé says. “And no. It’s because I’m the Slayer.” She realizes with a little start that this is the first time she’s said so out loud. It’s starting to feel true.  
  
Anakin’s eyes go very round. “The—the Vampire Slayer? I thought she was a myth!”  
  
“I’m real,” Padmé says, giving him a small smile.  
  
“Wow,” Anakin says, and grins at her, fear forgotten for the time being. “I guess that explains it.”

*  
  
She finds Obi-Wan sitting with the boy later, when she comes down to listen to the transmission from Theed in privacy. Anakin looks very small, with Obi-Wan’s cloak draped over his shoulders. “He’s cold,” Obi-Wan says apologetically, and she smiles at Anakin and pulls a blanket out of a storage cupboard.  
  
“You come from a warm planet,” she says to Anakin, tucking the blanket over his knees. He’s had bacta treatments for the scabs at his neck and wrists, but the skin is still pink and raw. She shivers a little herself. “Space is cold.”  
  
“You’ll get used to it,” Obi-Wan adds, and takes back his cloak. “I did.”  
  
“I thought you were _from_ here,” Anakin says, and Obi-Wan laughs.  
  
“I wasn’t born in space,” he says. “I’m from Coruscant. My home is the Jedi Temple—maybe your home too,” he says, glancing at Padmé.  
  
“Maybe,” Anakin says.  
  
Maybe, Padmé feels like echoing.  
  
“What’s it like?” she asks him, settling in at Anakin’s side. “The Temple?”  
  
“Yeah!” Anakin enthuses. “Is it nice? How many hours a day do you have to work? Can you specialize in building stuff, or do you have to learn to fight? Is it cold there, too, or is it normal? How many kids are there?”  
  
Obi-Wan gives her a searching look, and then settles in himself, on Anakin’s other side. “It’s beautiful,” he tells them. “And very old. It’s a place of learning, not work. You _will_ work very hard, of course, if you’re accepted—but it’s good work. I was always glad to do it, even when it exhausted me.” He looks at Padmé again, a small frown on his face. “It’s work that betters you, so you can better help others.”  
  
He tells them more about the Temple—the waterfalls where children swim, the crèche full of letters and numbers and yes, robotics, the library full of ancient scrolls and voices from days long past, the archives full of supernatural weapons, the stakes and crystals and axes that destroyed the evils of centuries past--the demon alliance of Malastare, the vampire cult of Amara, the Sith Lord Ravager, the god Glorificus. And of course the thousands of prophecies from Seers long dead, the scholars who determine when and where the Slayer is needed.  
  
Anakin dozes after a while, but Padmé finds herself glaring a little. “You disapprove of me,” she says flatly. “You think I’m avoiding my responsibility.”  
  
Obi-Wan doesn’t blink. “I do,” he agrees. “You have no idea how much the galaxy needs the Slayer, Highness. That’s the point of the prophecies. Only you can avert disaster. The Jedi can help, but your presence tips the scale. We can help people—sometimes even nations. The Slayer can save _worlds_. I’ve seen it happen.”  
  
She starts to argue, and then his words catch up to her. “You’ve seen it?” she asks, voice softening.  
  
He nods shortly. “I grew up with the last Slayer,” he tells her. “Siri Tachi.”  
  
“I’m sure she was very brave,” Padmé says, inadequate. She feels cold herself, and wraps her arms around her knees. She’s been avoiding this part of it—there is only ever one Slayer. The moment she was called, the girl before her died. Being Chosen has felt like Padmé’s problem—a horrible fate to be put aside until she can be sure her planet is safe—but it was Siri Tachi’s life. Siri Tachi’s death.  
  
“She was a hero,” Obi-Wan tells her, and gets up. “You should be, too.”  
  
*   
  
On Coruscant, the Jedi become her enemy again.  
  
“I cannot accompany you to the Temple, Master Jinn,” she says. “I must meet with Senator Palpatine before addressing the Senate.”  
  
He gives her a mild look. “The Council will not be pleased.”  
  
“I’m not pleased either,” she tells him, and a crease appears at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but nearly.  
  
“I’ll inform the Council that you’ll see them after the Senate meets,” he says. “But you will have to face your destiny soon, your Highness. You _need_ a Watcher.”  
  
She nods, and turns away from the Temple, towards the Naboo consulate. She is dressed in black feathers and mourning purple, her face painted in the Queen’s colors. She does not speak for herself, but for her people, even now suffering under an invading force.  
  
Palpatine is an old friend of her father’s, an advisor of the last king. She has met him in person only rarely, but she values his counsel. More than that, she has never been to Coruscant, never met the Chancellor. She trusts him to steer her through the duplicitous chaos of the Senate. She trusts his advice.  
  
After the shouting stops and the Senate is adjourned, she returns to the consulate to plan their next moves with her advisors before visiting the Temple. As it turns out, the Temple has come to her—Master Windu is waiting in her ready room.  
  
He is taller and more stern in person. She is perversely glad to still be dressed in her ceremonial costume. She nods at Sabé, and her attendants disperse, leaving them alone.  
  
“Slayer,” he greets her, only a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “I expected you sooner.”  
  
“I had matters to attend to,” Padmé tells him in the Queen’s voice, low and commanding. “Please,” she says, gesturing to a chair. “Sit.”  
  
He does not sit. “Your dedication to your political duty does you credit. But the time for that has ended, according to the laws of the Republic as well as our own.”  
  
“There is actually no precedent for a ruler to be Chosen during a planetary state of emergency,” Padmé returns, her voice sharpening. “It is my duty to oversee a safe transfer of power. How can I do that while my world is under attack, and my people dying?”  
  
“And what of the demon you met on Tattooine, and others like him?” Master Windu says, implacable, and she flinches. “There are people dying everywhere. People only the Slayer can save.”  
  
“There are people on Naboo only _I_ can save,” she says quietly. “I must go back, Master Windu. If I suffer the fate of my people, another will be Called. Perhaps her duty will be more clear.”  
  
A smile flickers so briefly over Master Windu’s face that she nearly thinks she imagined it. “You are determined on this course of action?” he asks, repressively.  
  
“I am,” she replies.  
  
“Then your Watcher must go with you,” Master Windu says, and he sits after all. “ _That_ duty falls to me.”  
  
“Oh,” she says, surprised. It comes out in her own voice. “What does that mean?”  
  
“It means I will train you in the ways of the Force,” he tells her. “I will teach you to build a lightsaber, advise you in your battles, offer you the guidance of the Jedi. It _means_ ,” he says, pointedly, “that I’m here to help you.”  
  
“Oh,” she says again. “So—will you come with me to Naboo?”  
  
“Where you go, I will go,” he says drily. “With your permission, Slayer—I’d like to put a training bond in place before we leave. It’s a thread of the living Force, connecting my mind to yours. It will allow us to communicate across short distances without speech, and more importantly it will allow me to help you in combat.”  
  
She raises her eyebrows. “You’ll be able to influence my thoughts?” she asks, doubtfully.  
  
He shakes his head. “I’ll be able to offer you my experiences. The choice will always be yours.” He hesitates, and then adds: “If we go back to Naboo, I think it is entirely possible that we will encounter your desert attacker again. Facing him as you are—without any training at all—would be a death sentence.”  
  
She gives him a serious nod. “I think you are right, Master Windu. Very well. You have my permission.”  
  
He smiles at her. “It is also the product of several thousand years of tradition, and part of the Jedi code.”  
  
She smiles back. “Aren’t you glad I approve?” she asks him.  
  
“Very,” he says. He reaches out with two fingers and touches her lightly on her forehead. A look of distaste crosses his face for a moment, and she can feel Master Jinn’s muffling blanket unraveling.  
  
“Invisibility charms are a cheat,” he informs her. “Shielding yourself will be our first lesson.”  
  
An instant later, a warmth blooms in the back of her mind. It’s exactly as he described it—a warm thread, connecting his mind to hers. She imagines it as purple, although of course she can’t actually see it.  
  
“There,” he says, and lets his fingers fall away.  
  
“I’ll meet you on the tarmac in an hour,” Padmé says, giving him a brisk nod, and receiving one in return.  
  
In the back of her mind, she senses approval.  
  
*  
  
Master Jinn and his apprentice also accompany them to Naboo. The Council believes the demon on Tattoine was a Sith—a Dark order that has always been the enemy of the Jedi. They have been commissioned to investigate the possibility of a Sith targeting the Slayer.  
  
More surprisingly, _Anakin_ is coming with them, as Qui-Gon’s new apprentice. Anakin is thrilled, Qui-Gon impassive. Obi-Wan is visibly unhappy.  
  
“I thought only one Padawan was allowed?” she asks Master Windu, when she gets a chance.  
  
“Only one is,” he says sourly.  
  
Padmé raises her eyebrows, but asks no more questions.  
  
Possibly as a reward for her restraint, Master Windu gives her a glaive. There’s no time to make her a lightsaber, but a Slayer needs an edged weapon. The glaive is a long staff with a curved vibro-blade at the end, long and wicked. Padmé surprises herself by loving it. The feel of the staff in her hands is natural, right. It sparks a kind of hunger in her chest, a bright Slayer urge to kill something.  
  
Master Windu looks very satisfied, and gives her a punishing drill to run through.  
  
*  
  
In the last days of Queen Amidala’s reign, she brokers an historic alliance with the Gungans, stages a revolt against an occupying force, and kidnaps the viceroy.  
  
The demon from Tattooine is there, full of malice. The other Jedi—Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, and Master Windu—draw their weapons, and the bright flame in Padmé’s heart longs to go with them. That is a monster, her Slayer self tells her, eager and outraged. An evil monster, and she can kill it, she knows she can.  
  
Master Windu turns to look at her, his gaze fierce. _Go,_ he says without speaking. _Save your world, Queen Amidala_.  
  
Padmé gives him a quick nod, and draws a veil over the bright Slayer hunger, and runs instead to her throne room, glaive at the ready.  
  
She gains control of the palace, and then the planet, after her pilots destroy the control ship. A flare of agony blooms in her side, and she gasps—but of course she isn’t hurt. It’s Master Windu.  
  
“Captain,” she says brusquely. “You are in command. I’m going after the Jedi.”  
  
She tasks a medic to follow her, closes her eyes for a moment, and reaches for the glowing purple thread in the back of her mind. She catches it firmly, and tugs. “This way,” she says, and leads them to the bowels of the palace.  
  
Master Windu is injured but alive, a frightening hole in his lower right side. The medic turns white and pulls a stack of bacta pads out of her bag, falling to her knees by his side. _Go,_ Master Windu tells her, red-eyed with pain. _Help him._  
  
Padmé runs.  
  
She finds Master Jinn collapsed in a heap near a wide reactor shaft, the demon prowling over him like a cat. Obi-Wan is in the shaft, hanging onto a pipe by one hand, sobbing with effort.  
  
The demon sees her and smiles.  
  
“Slayer,” he says, almost on a sigh. “At last.”  
  
Padmé is grim, scared for Master Jinn and Obi-Wan, scared for herself, scared of the monster.  
  
The Slayer is wonderfully, violently glad. A wild joy rises up from her gut into her chest as she readies her weapon and her body takes over. Her glaive sends the demon spinning, and his return blow flings her across the room, and she bites the inside of her cheek with shock, so her mouth fills with blood, bright and coppery and human.  
  
Distantly she feels that purple tug in the back of her mind, her Watcher ready with advice and aid, but she pushes it away, slams the door of her mind shut. This is a monster; she is the Slayer. She knows what to do. She spits her blood on the floor and laughs.  
  
The demon leaps for her, and she’s ready for him, learning from his body even as he gains on her, twisting and kicking out. His saber catches a loop of her hair, filling the air with the scent of burning, sending brown locks drifting to the floor. She lands a blow on his leg, violet blood spilling onto the floor, and she presses the advantage, driving him closer to the edge.

The demon was feinting. He switches his weapon off just as they reach the ledge, and the lack of resistance overbalances her, and sends her hurtling over the edge.  
  
Obi-Wan is still hanging to the pipe, and Padmé instinctively drops her glaive and grabs hold of him. He cries out, and she sees why he hasn’t recovered himself—his right hand is completely severed, an ugly wound cradled to his chest.  
  
“Sorry,” Padmé whispers in horror, switching her grip to the pipe instead of his shoulder. He grunts as she jostles him.  
  
The demon laughs above them. “I thought the Slayer would be more of a challenge,” he says, and spits into the shaft.  
  
Obi-Wan leans into her, his grey face close to hers. _My Master’s_ _lightsaber,_ she hears and does not hear. _Take it._  
  
She doesn’t know _how_ , she hasn’t been taught to use the Force. She only knows what her body knows. She fumbles for that connection with her Watcher, but she can’t find it—she shut the door too firmly.  
  
Above them, Qui-Gon groans, and the demon turns towards him, sending a spike of panic through her chest.  
  
_Now,_ Obi-Wan tells her, and pushes the knowledge into her—a faint blue knowing, like trying to remember something she was told in a dream—but it’s enough. She summons Qui-Gon’s lightsaber to her hand, leaps out of the shaft, and plunges the glowing blade into the demon’s heart.  
  
He gasps, looks at her one last time with wide yellow eyes, and crumbles shockingly into dust. She _feels_ him die.  
  
She drops the lightsaber and throws herself on her belly, reaching down to help pull Obi-Wan to safety.  
  
“My Master,” he gasps, grey and sweating. “My Master, please.”  
  
Qui-Gon is alive, but barely. Obi-Wan stumbles to his side, cradling his Master’s head in his good arm.  
  
Padmé doesn’t stay to listen—she runs for help. She hears Obi-Wan anyway, a faint voice in her mind growing fainter the further away she runs. _I’m safe, I’m all right… No! She’ll bring a doctor, she….Yes, Master. I promise.  
_  
She feels Qui-Gon die, halfway to the reactor with a medic in tow. A faint light, guttering out.  
  
*  
  
Queen Amidala abdicates on the day of victory. Padmé Naberrie takes her place—hair shorn short as a boy’s, her face naked, pink lightsaber scars crossing her ribs.  
  
She is not a queen. She is not a woman of Naboo. She is the Slayer, Chosen servant of the Jedi. She will stand against the forces of darkness, but not quite alone.  
  
There are two threads of the Living Force tied to the base of her skull: the warm violet training bond that stretches to her Master, and the cool blue partner bond that stretches to Obi-Wan Kenobi.  
  
Her Master discovers this from a hospital bed, Obi-Wan collapsed on the bed opposite. She has been at his side since Qui-Gon’s death. She abdicated the crown from outside the surgery. Anakin came in after the first hour or so, small and tearstained. She let him curl up against her and wait, while she works on the practical details from a tablet in her lap. Immediate control of the government passes to her senior advisor, who will be obligated to hold a special election in a fortnight. The same process that would be put in place if she died while in office. Eventually Anakin falls asleep, head resting on her shoulder.  
  
“It’s against the Code for the Slayer to form partner bonds,” Master Windu says wearily, after another few hours pass.  
  
“Is that what this is?” Padmé asks, tapping vaguely at the back of her neck. “I don’t think I did it on purpose.”  
  
“Yes, you did,” Master Windu says, groaning briefly before raising himself onto his elbows. “And don’t think there won’t be hell to pay, when the Council hears about it.”  
  
“I thought you were the Council,” Padmé says.  
  
He shakes his head. “I’m your Watcher, Slayer. That’s responsibility enough.”  
  
“Padmé,” she corrects him. “I’m Padmé, now.”  
  
A tired smile crosses his face, before being submerged in exhaustion. “Padmé.”  
  
“I don’t really know what a partner bond is,” she says, looking over at Obi-Wan, “But it saved us.”  
  
“It’s an emotional connection,” he tells her. “It’s often used by teams of Knights in the field. It’s partnership. Friendship. But the Slayer must stand alone.”  
  
“I didn’t know what to do,” she confesses, swallowing back her guilt. She _had_ shut the door on their bond. She still couldn’t explain why. “I couldn’t reach you.”  
  
“You allowed the Sith to bait you,” Master Windu says, tiredly. “If we’d had time, I could have prepared you. How did you feel, fighting the demon?”  
  
She thinks about it, for a second, the wild gladness, the blood in her mouth. “Right,” she says.  
  
“The Slayer’s power comes from the Light,” he tells her. “That doesn’t mean you can’t draw on the Dark.”  
  
“That’s what you think I did?” she asks, frowning. It hadn’t felt Dark—she’d been angry, but it was a good anger, a righteous anger.  
  
“I don’t know,” Master Windu says, and sighs. “I think I am glad Obi-Wan could help you.”  
  
“I’m sorry about Qui-Gon,” she says softly.  
  
He closes his eyes, briefly, and a flare of pain comes from the opposite bed. Obi-Wan is awake. “I know,” Master Windu says.  
  
*  
  
The Slayer stands alone.

Padmé does not.  
  
Qui-Gon’s pyre is held on Coruscant, and Padmé stands between her Master and her friend, Anakin on Obi-Wan’s other side. Chancellor Palpatine is just across the circle, and Obi-Wan’s friends surround them—people she does not know by name but who _feel_ friendly to her, because Obi-Wan loves them.  
  
She weeps at the funeral—not for Qui-Gon, who she liked, but barely knew. She weeps for Naboo, for Queen Amidala, for Sabé and Eirtaé and Rabé who she might never see again, for Theed and the throne and her plans to run for Senate, for the person she was and the person she will never be. She weeps a little for Siri Tachi.  
  
When she leaves the pyre, her eyes are dry. Her master goes to speak with Master Yoda, the head of the council, and Obi-Wan is drawn immediately into the arms of a woman who feels like a very old friend.  
  
Padmé is left with Anakin, who looks red-eyed and lost. “What happens now?” he asks her. She knows he doesn’t mean the ceremony. Where do they go from here?  
  
“Well,” she says slowly, “You’ll become a Jedi Knight. And I’ll be the Slayer. I think if we work hard, maybe we can help people.”  
  
Anakin gives her a serious nod. “I’d like to help people,” he tells her.  
  
The Chosen One smiles at the Chosen One. “I think you will,” she tells him.   


 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story was born out of this headcanon/ramble (http://wildehacked.tumblr.com/post/144330899275/i-want-the-fire-back), where you can technically see what happens next, unless I end up changing my mind. 
> 
> I'm wildehacked over on tumblr if you want to join me in the niche corner. :) 
> 
> (Also, just because I know somebody's going to wonder: as a demon AND a Sith, Maul is obviously even more superpowered than he was originally. Hence the triple threat of Mace and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon not slowing him down.)


End file.
